


Stay

by siriusly_gryffindorable



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Pining, Well as happy as they can get anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9294068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusly_gryffindorable/pseuds/siriusly_gryffindorable
Summary: Conclusion for 'All I Do Is Hope' and 'The Light of Your Company.' Dean and Cas each struggle with the consequences of hooking up while Dean is drunk. Dean attempts to kick alcohol and sex entirely, while Castiel does his best to stay away from Dean. Obviously, that's not going to work for either of them.“You know, I still can't believewe both did some thingsI don't even wanna think aboutJust say you love me and I'll say ‘I’m sorry,I don't want anybody else to feel this way’”--Mayday Parade





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Part One](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9200132) \-- All I Do Is Hope
> 
> [Part Two](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9212312) \-- The Light Of Your Company

It had been two weeks, one day, and two hours since Dean Winchester had touched a bottle of alcohol. (Not so) Coincidentally, it had been two weeks, one day, and nine hours since Dean had seen or spoken to Castiel. He knew that Sam had spoken to him on the phone, checking in and following up on cases, but if the angel had asked about Dean, Sam had kept that to himself. Dean knew he had been irritable and sluggish and difficult, and he knew he was experiencing withdrawal from more than alcohol. But he could handle the pain if it meant not getting in over his head with other feelings…or hurting anyone else for that matter.

> “Do you want to grab a beer?” Sam asked as they threw their shovels into the trunk. “Digging up a grave always makes me thirsty.”  
>  “I’m just going to shower and sleep,” Dean answered flatly without looking at his brother. He walked around to the driver’s side, pulling his door open.  
>  “Dean, why don’t you just…” Sam started.  
>  “No,” Dean snapped, finality in his tone. So Sam bit his tongue and climbed into the passenger’s seat as Dean turned the ignition. 

Four weeks, two days, and twelve hours since he’d last seen Castiel, Dean was sitting in his bed with his knees drawn up to his chest. The physical symptoms had largely faded. He didn’t have a cold sweat when he woke up in the middle of the night reaching across his bed for someone who wasn’t there. His hands didn’t shake as he ran them through his hair wishing they belonged to someone else. He was still experiencing tightness in his chest and nausea and a racing heart, but only when he let his mind wander to the person he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about. Dean dropped his head back against the wall hard enough that it thumped loudly. He turned to look at the unopened bottle of whiskey on his nightstand. _You don’t need to be drunk to call him, you know_ , his conscience whispered to him. “I’m not thinking about calling him,” Dean retorted to the silence. He rolled his eyes at his own ridiculousness and grabbed the bottle roughly. Dean flicked off the lamp, somehow more comfortable with his choice in the dark, and then he unscrewed the lid taking a healthy pull from the bottle. The burn in his chest felt like freedom and failure in the same swallow. _It won’t be long now_ , his mind said peacefully.

 

Castiel was pacing around the entrance to the bunker, his trench coat billowing in the night’s breeze. It had been four weeks, two days, thirteen hours, and thirty minutes since he’d last seen Dean, and the ache in his soul had been nearly unbearable. When he heard Dean’s call, nearly fifteen minutes ago now, he had not hesitated to fly, but he stopped short of his final destination. Castiel knew what would happen if he went into Dean’s bedroom --- he and Dean would tumble into bed, and it would be perfect. It was all Castiel’s heart and body wanted. And yet he was conflicted. This kind of relationship, if you could call it that, was not sustainable. He wasn’t even sure it was real if he was being completely honest with himself. Was it more selfish to keep taking what Dean was drunkenly willing to offer or to refuse Dean what he wanted? Castiel could not decide, and so he was stuck unable to move forward and terrified to go back. 

But then Dean’s calls, which had not really ceased since they began, became more desperate, more insistent. Without another thought, Castiel was inside Dean’s room at the foot of the bed. Dean was at the top of the bed, leaning against the wall and staring at the center of the room as though he knew that was where the angel would appear. His legs and arms crossed almost defensively, but when Cas dropped into the room, Dean immediately opened up and crawled to the end of the bed. An empty bottle rolled from the bed onto the floor as he moved. Wordlessly, he got up on his knees and reached for Castiel, grabbing his tie and pulling him in for a bruising kiss. The pair sighed in unison when their lips connected, and the tension bled from their bodies. Castiel could taste the bite of whiskey on Dean’s tongue, as it demanded entrance to his mouth. The most rational of his brain threw up a red flag, but the longing in every other part of him overruled it. Dean moved his mouth from Castiel’s lips, across his jaw to the spot behind his ear. Cas groaned and wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, pressing as much of his body against Dean as he could. Dean began murmuring against Castiel’s neck, his mouth sucking and biting Cas’s skin.

“I was afraid you weren’t going to come, darlin’,” Dean whispered with a nip to the angel’s earlobe.  
“In the end, like a fool,” Cas said through a gasp, “I’ll always come to you.”  
Dean chuckled, shucked off Castiel’s coat, his fingers went to work on his shirt. “Been the longest month of my life,” he breathed across Cas’s lips before kissing him hard, pulling at his lower lip with his teeth. Castiel found he could not make words to respond, so he just slid his hands up Dean’s shirt, nails raking his back instead. “Can’t tell you how much I need this, baby,” Dean added with a moan.  
Castiel attempted to pull back slightly, “Dean…” he began cautiously.  
In response, Dean gripped Cas around the waist, pulling him in tighter. “No. No. It’s fine. There wasn’t anyone else. Never been anyone else,” he slurred fervently. “You’re all I want.”

The angel pushed Dean down on to the bed and climbed up to straddle him. He leaned down, lips quickly finding Dean’s. Castiel kissed the other man largely to silence him. Castiel could not bear to hear drunken professions of feelings. The act of hooking up was one thing, but the empty words and promises were a whole different animal. So Castiel ground his hips down on to Dean’s, and they each moaned into the other’s mouth.

 

 

Dean was asleep, arm thrown over Castiel’s bare midsection, face nuzzled into the angel’s neck. He was snoring softly against Cas’s skin, while Cas was staring at the ceiling. Every inch of Castiel’s being wanted to believe that he could have this --- that when Dean woke in a few hours, he would know what he had done, and he would be content. “Perhaps he knew what he was doing, calling me tonight,” Castiel whispered to himself, “he wasn’t with anyone before I came.” The bitter, insecure part of his brain just laughed at his continued foolishness, threatening to drudge up every hurtful memory it had of Dean. Resignation and sadness filled Castiel’s chest. Hope, he decided, was a cruel and dangerous thing. 

Castiel lifted the arm from around his waist, stood from the bed, and gathered up his clothing. He looked down at Dean’s sleeping face. It was too much ---too much to have Dean press against him in his sleep, too much to have Dean writhing underneath him, and far too much to have Dean saying such perfect things while he reeked of alcohol. He mojo-ed back into his clothes and was gone. 

 

The right side of Dean’s body was cold. He rolled onto his side, eyes cracking open slowly. The empty space on the bed next to him gave no indication that a person had been there during the night, but Dean knew better. He could still feel hands on his body and lips against his skin. There had been no random hookup – no scouring the bar for a nameless woman. There had only been Castiel, and Dean was not in a position to pretend otherwise. His head was pounding, his mouth was desert dry, and stomach was roiling, but none of that compared to ache of having woken up alone. It was not as though he’d really expected, or even wanted he supposed, Castiel to stay the night, but disappointment still crashed in his gut. 

Dean eased himself out of bed, careful not to move too quickly for fear of puking everywhere, threw on boxers and a t-shirt, and made his way to the bathroom. He watched his face in the mirror as he brushed his teeth thoroughly, but no amount of scrubbing could remove the bitter sting of failure. Dean had told himself over and over again that he was done, that he didn’t want Cas and he wasn’t going to hurt him, but here he was. Clearly, Dean was not as strong as he liked to pretend he was. Maybe giving up the fight would be better? As he considered that, Dean saw the face in the mirror look lighter and more hopeful than it had maybe ever. He huffed a little at himself and turned to walk out of the bathroom. 

 

The tables in the bunker’s library were covered with papers and half empty boxes and open books, and Sam Winchester was fed up. He was tired of seeing his brother a mess. “Maybe this isn’t going to change anything,” Sam thought, “but neither is doing nothing.” He was pacing back and forth, his cell phone in his hand, and glancing at the time every few minutes. Finally, there was a rush of wings behind him, and he spun on his heel to face Castiel. The angel looked drawn and tired and uncomfortable. 

“I got your message, Sam,” Cas said, eyes not leaving Sam’s, “What is it you need?”

Sam motioned toward the cluttered tables and gave a half grin, “I’ve been trying to sort through all of the information the Men of Letters have. And I found a bunch of stuff on angels. I was hoping you’d be willing to look it over, tell me if they got anything right?” Castiel opened his mouth the refuse, shifting awkwardly on his feet, but Sam just added, “I’m going to run down to storage to see if there are more files, don’t move.” He took a few long strides and disappeared from the room. 

The angel narrowed his eyes and surveyed the cluttered tables. He should leave. He knew at any moment Dean could walk into the room and Castiel would be faced with another dismissal. The smart thing to do would be to leave before Dean’s denial or ignorance or whatever forced Castiel away. He leaned against the table, unable to move, and then he felt Dean’s eyes on his back. He tightened his shoulders and dropped his head. 

Dean should have been expecting this because Castiel was always there, whether he wanted to see him or not. Dean wanted to be infuriated by how dependable Castiel always was. One thing was certain, however --- Dean was not ready for this moment. Standing there in his boxers and t-shirt, hardly more awake than he had been when he got out of bed, Dean felt vulnerable. 

“Sam just wanted me to review some of the bunker’s files,” Castiel began without moving to face at Dean. “I’m not sure I can be of any help,” he said flatly. It was a struggle to keep his hands planted on the table when all he wanted was to look at Dean. He waited for a moment, hoping that somehow, Dean would say something that made staying possible. 

Dean tried to will himself forward or to open his mouth, but he couldn’t --- he was petrified. He was one hundred percent a coward without the presence of alcohol. Dean ran his bare foot along the floor, racking his brain for something, anything to say, but there was nothing. His brain was empty and his mouth was dry. 

And then Castiel stood up straight, ready to fly out of the bunker and likely out of reach to Dean. Unbidden one word, the only word he’d only ever needed to say, bubbled up Dean’s throat and burst of his mouth, “Stay.” Castiel spun around quickly, his coat whipping around his ankles. He tilted his head slightly and furrowed his brow. Their eyes connected, and Dean lips quirked up in a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Please, Cas. Please just stay.”

> "I'm not strong enough for the both of us  
>  What was I supposed to do  
>  You know I love you  
>  Please just stay"


End file.
